Forever Mine
by sofiaibat
Summary: Sherlock wanted to tell John something, but he was scared. John found out and was brave.


John remembered when Sherlock had taken him to a small park that overlooked a small lake. They had just solved a rather strange case about a man who was found dead in a hundred year old tree, which Sherlock had solved in only a day. John had been scratching his head the whole time, but Sherlock solved it by harassing the bloke who mowed the lawn until he confessed. John was always impressed, and he never got tired of his friend dashing about various places. To be honest, he wished that the detective would wait for him to catch up, but he usually needed to apologize about Sherlock anyway. He looked to the side and noticed Sherlock looking at his fingers. At first John thought he was digging out splinters, but then he realized it was a slip of paper he was fumbling with. Sherlock opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it, and sighed.

"Sherlock?" The soldier asked, a bit concerned. Where did he get that? Was it from Moriarty or something?

The detective growled, either at John or at the paper, and then he threw it at John, and stormed off. John grabbed the paper, which was floating through the air and aiming for the water. He was almost tempted to throw it into the lake, but curiosity overcame him. He was surprised by what he had found there. It almost looked like some sort of script.

_**Take John to park after solving crime. Start speaking as soon as a general quiet comes up.**_

_**Me: **__John, I know I told you that I considered myself married to my work, but over the years, that has changed. You're probably assuming that I'm thinking of The Woman. Well I'm not. You've gotten better at deducing (or guessing), so try and guess who I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of a certain person who wears horrendous jumpers all the time and always watches crap telly with a jar of jam. I'm thinking of someone who didn't call me a freak when meeting, and who still seems to appreciate my abilities. Someone who loves the thrill of the chase and who constantly puts up with the most irritating, selfish, egotistic arse-hole in the world. If you can't figure it out, then I guess I should just spell it out: Y. O. U. So I guess that means I love you._

_**Me (If John rejects me): **__Okay, well, I understand. But I don't think that I'll be able to stay now that this is in the open, so I've already prepared an overnight bag. Goodbye Doctor Watson._

_**Me (If John doesn't reject me): **__Thank you._

John put down the paper, re-reading the words again and again. Sherlock, was in _love_ with him? And he was too scared to tell him? _Oh Sherlock…_ John slowly headed back to the flat, wondering how he would say that he felt the same. He DID feel the same. He always denied it, but he had always felt a twinge of guilt for lying to everyone, even himself about his sexuality. When he arrived, he found himself face to face with a fretful Mrs. Hudson.

"John, did you have a row with Sherlock? He just stormed in here and left with an overnight bag? What happened?" John's jaw dropped as he remembered the rejection line in Sherlock's script. Did he really think that John was going to reject him? John gave a sentimental sigh and left the landing before Mrs. Hudson said anything more. _Alright, where would a dejected Sherlock go? OH SHIT._

John knew exactly where Sherlock would end up, and he called a taxi. One short ride later, he arrived at a drug den and busted in, wandering hallway after hallway until he found Sherlock about to inject himself.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you do that, I will kill you." The man looked up and his pale features seemed to grow paler when he saw the note. His fingers twitched and it looked like he was tempted to do it anyways. John crossed the room and took Sherlock's hand, and moved it away, taking the syringe and smashing it. Sherlock's eyes stayed fixed on the note.

"John. You read it." John nodded and Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John didn't want him to speak. He didn't want Sherlock to be insecure, so he did something to make the detective secure. He kissed him.

**243 Dates Later**

"'Till death do us part."

Marriage. Sherlock had complained to Mycroft the whole way over about how this wasn't necessary, but the elder Holmes knew that the younger was nervous. Of course he was. The way Sherlock's face had lit up when he saw John standing in his tux was enough to make it obvious. The ceremony was simple and Mycroft would've left if Mummy hadn't gotten annoyed with him.

The reception was great. Mycroft ended up as Sherlock's best man, and Lestrade was John's. Both men's eyes had caught several times but neither of them had said anything. Mycroft had an inkling that would change soon, maybe after the reception. Lestrade's speech was good. Mycroft's, not so much. At the end, it was time for the dance and no one could stop smiling as the couple danced together to a piece that Sherlock had composed himself. He kept on voicing his annoyance that someone else was playing his music, and only shut up when John kissed him. Lestrade had danced with Molly and Mycroft ended up with some woman named Sally, but for some unknown reason, the two groomsmen ended up dancing together too.

Sherlock smiled at John, and the shorter man smiled back at him. He spent three hours perfecting the piece and had played until his fingers were calloused. But it had paid off, and now he and his husband were slow dancing. And so were Mycroft and Graham. _Hmm._ John rested his head against Sherlock's chest and Sherlock subconsciously put his hand on John's head. Marriage certainly was silly. But now he had John.

'_Till death do they part._


End file.
